


A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

by Cerberusia



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 21:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20785661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: So: dreams don't count. Even if you see your blood relatives in them. After all, it's only your subconscious mashing together a few elements into a surreal narrative to process your day. It doesn'tmeananything.Luke dreams about all sorts of things. He rarely has nightmares, or at least not ones he remembers; all he wakes up with is an uneasy sense of loss. He has sexual dreams with what he assumes to be the ordinary frequency of a celibate man his age. But when he brings his nephew to live with him on Yavin IV, he's suddenly having them nearly every night.





	A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).

Back on Tatooine, Luke and his friends had had all sorts of rules about whether or not a kiss or a grope 'counted'. A kiss didn't 'count' if it was Mari Nagra from the neighbouring farm when you were eight, even if tongues were involved. It didn't 'count' when you were bathing with your older sister and accidentally touched her breasts. A few years later, it didn't 'count' if you were drunk, or trapped in a sandstorm and thought you were going to die a virgin. It _definitely_ didn't 'count' if it was only a dream. Everybody had _dreams_. Connie Sporr once had an amazing dream and woke up in the middle of the best orgasm she'd ever had, and when she thought about it she realised her imaginary lover had had her brother's face.

So: dreams don't count. Even if you see your blood relatives in them. After all, it's only your subconscious mashing together a few elements into a surreal narrative to process your day. It doesn't _mean_ anything.

Luke dreams about all sorts of things. He rarely has nightmares, or at least not ones he remembers; all he wakes up with is an uneasy sense of loss. He has sexual dreams with what he assumes to be the ordinary frequency of a celibate man his age. But when he brings his nephew to live with him on Yavin IV, he's suddenly having them nearly every night.

The explanation is obvious: Ben's empathy is leaking all over, as it's wont to do, which includes broadcasting a low-level teenaged randiness all over Luke's modest house, in which they live in preference to the Jedi temple, which will need some structural renovation and a few more Padawans before it's ready for inhabitants. Thus, wet dreams. _Vivid_ wet dreams.

There's very little Luke can do about this: Ben needs to learn emotional continence while he's awake, which is why they're out here on Yavin, so Luke can teach him and he can explode a few times without any danger. This should then have some impact on what emotions he emits when he's asleep. And, frankly, it's hardly the worst thing Ben's moodiness could be spreading.

So, a few times a week, Luke wakes up pleasantly aroused, with thoughts of a previous or desired lover in his mind - often Leia or Han. Just as often they're faceless. He masturbates to orgasm, either there in bed or in the fresher, before going in to wake Ben, who has adopted nocturnal teenaged habits. It rapidly becomes entirely ordinary.

"In some cultures," says Ben over the breakfast table, mouth half-full of cereal, "they'd have forced you and Mom to get married. You know, as twins."

"Gendarans, among others," Luke agrees. He thinks of this morning's dream, half memory, half fantasy: Leia at nineteen or twenty, riding him, her long hair cascading over her small, proud breasts.

Ben is watching him very intently with his dark, dark eyes. There's no reason to think he knows what image Luke is seeing in his mind's eye. Luke concentrates hard on making his caf anyway.

That night, he has the same dream of Leia, beautiful and lusty. But there's another presence with them, formless and watching.

He doesn't mention it to Ben. It might be a psychological response to his unease this morning; or, at worst, Ben's sleeping mind wandering a little. In retrospect, that was a mistake.

He feels a presence in his dreams often, after that. It is, surely, Ben's subconscious; it's as if, having visited Luke's unconscious mind once, Ben's mind had found it so congenial that it had decided to stop by more often. Luke is quite sure it's uncontrolled, that Ben has no control over it. There's no particular pattern that he can determine: often he doesn't even remember his dreams, just wakes up with a whisper of presence in his mind that tells him he had company.

In daylight, Luke and Ben keep to their routine. Ben finished his formal schooling on Coruscant a few months ago - with tutors, which had been undesirable but unavoidable after a few abortive attempts to place him in a school with his peers - and what had once been holidays spent with Uncle Luke for tutoring in the Force now became a more intensive program of study. Luke is in contact with other Force-sensitives across the galaxy whom he believes have the potential to become Jedi, and accordingly he spends his time teaching them, teaching Ben, and repairing the ancient Praxeum that will, he hopes, soon house them all.

Their work on the ancient stones provides plenty of practice in manipulating the Force as telekinetic power. Ben is good at that, and it provides an outlet for his energy that is constructive rather than destructive, so Luke usually sets him to clearing away debris and tidying stones into place for a while before encouraging him to apply his powers to finer work. For such a volatile young man, Ben has always had vast reserves of patience when faced with achieving something he really wants; even if he occasionally throws tantrums in the middle to let out his frustration. Perhaps it's less patience than dogged persistence. Ben has many of the best traits of both his parents, but also both their stubbornness combined.

Sometimes, when it's humid in Yavin's jungle, Luke strips to the waist for this work. Ben, long accustomed to the casual half-nakedness of his father and uncle, usually does the same. When his gaze seems to linger on Luke's bare torso a little longer than propriety allows, Luke reassures himself that Ben is merely curious about his own developing body. He himself had done much the same at nineteen when faced with Han's furry chest.

Ben himself is still losing the last gangly touches of adolescence: but he's tall, much taller than Luke or even his father, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He looks like a man, which makes his childlike smile and enormous ears (which he attempts to hide with his long hair) even more incongruously boyish.

It takes Luke nearly a week to realise that lately, his dream lover is always a man. This is the same length of time it takes for him to realise the man wears Ben's face.

_Many a man has made love with his mother in his sleep._ Luke splashes cold water on his face and tries to believe it. Dreams don't count, after all.

He says nothing. Ben says nothing. But Ben gives him speaking looks, looks he surely doesn't even recognise for what they are. Knowing looks, but like he doesn't know what it is he knows.

Luke's dreams now divide into two types: normal, and other. Normal dreams are about anything, the normal subconscious somnolent processing of emotionally affective nonsense. Other dreams cannot be mistaken for normal ones. Other dreams are as vivid as nightmares, and always accompanied by a sense of a subconscious not his own being mined for material.

For instance: the dream-lover who wears Ben's face is touching him. They are both undressed, though they were dressed only a moment ago. Ben has a constellation of three tiny moles on his left pectoral that Luke has never noticed before. Ben is taller than him by a head and Luke has to tilt his head up to be kissed. Ben is as inexpert as the virgin Luke knows he is, so he shows that big plush mouth how to move, to suck, to bite. He teaches him to kiss the way Luke prefers.

(If this really were a dream, surely the apparition would already have known just how he liked to be kissed?)

The nights pass. Ben gets better at kissing. He likes to pick Luke up. Luke has never had any fantasies of being literally swept off his feet, and it disconcerts him; but squirming only provokes Ben to hold him tighter and kiss him more ardently.

Ben is always in control. That's how sex dreams have always worked for Luke - a dream lover pressing him into the mattress and making him feel good - so he doesn't think much of it. He lets Ben pick him up and kiss him and put his big hand between his legs to paw curiously at his cock, his balls.

The dreams are too-real, but still move with the logic of unconsciousness: they are clothed and then naked, Luke is having his neck kissed then lying on his back with Ben's dark head between his legs.

Luke teaches him this, too. It's like kissing, he says. He doesn't hear the words come out of his own mouth, but he thinks Ben hears them. The only sound is the pulsing of his own blood in his ears and wet sucking noises as Ben cautiously takes in the head. Easy, easier than it would be in real life. There's no awkward shuffling rearrangement of bodies, nothing to break the flow. The dream tells him that he's getting his cock sucked wonderfully, so he is.

(Or perhaps Ben just took to this more quickly than he took to kissing?)

Ben's cock is thick and red, more detailed than Luke has ever dreamed a penis to be. In his dreams, a penis is only a correctly-shaped and correctly-sized object of pleasure, specifically his. He's seen Ben's soft genitals before, of course, when they've stripped down together to bathe in a river or something similar. Once, the stifling morning after a sweltering night, Ben came into the bathroom half-asleep and still undressed while Luke was brushing his teeth, and Luke had to pretend he hadn't noticed that Ben was half-aroused.

They move through a confusing jumble of positions, acts. Ben wants to suck Luke's cock on his knees, then looming over him with Luke flat on his back. He wants to touch every inch of Luke's skin, probe inside. They can switch from Ben's mouth around Luke's cock to Ben supine with his legs up and Luke's cock pressing against his entrance, to Luke's mouth filled with Ben's thick cock.

In normal dreams, Luke can direct them. He'd taught himself the art of lucid dreaming from Jedi meditation texts which recommended it as a basic exercise for children, but even without taking full control, he can prod a dream in a different direction, down a different path. In other dreams, it matters not at all. Ideas are plucked from his subconscious, and sometimes displayed. But the dream as a whole seems to take place somewhere that looks like Luke's bedroom or Ben's, but is in fact elsewhere, somewhere he can't control.

He dreams, and dreams. Every night, he dreams. The same dream: this or that bedroom, or the Praxeum or outside on the leafy ground, but the same dream. This position or that position, sucking, fucking, stroking, kissing, the limits of teenaged humanoid virgin perversion. The same dream. The same body, the same face.

The fading edges of dreams cling to his wakening consciousness each morning, sticky and vivid. They're just dreams. Ben wanders in for breakfast in loose pants but bare-chested. Luke sees the developing muscle there, and tells himself there's nothing unusual in noticing it. He doesn't permit his eyes to linger on the three moles, laid out like three stars.

They work. They study. The curve of Ben's bent neck over a cup of water prompts a superimposed image of it bent to suck a cockhead. Luke blinks it away. Ben, shirtless, sweats and stretches in the humid midday heat. Memory: on a bed, hands thrown up above his head, chest heaving, legs wrapped around Luke's waist.

Luke dreams of nobody else for a month straight of sex dreams. He says nothing.

It's warm all year round on Yavin, though not so fierce and dry as desert Tatooine - it's a swampy, humid, beguiling warmth. But it does have seasons, and they're in the cooler rainy season by the time the dreams change once more.

Leia, warm and fragrant, almost the age she is now. She's unpinning her hair to let it fall in a thick brown wave to her waist. Luke loves her hair, loves its length and the sweet odour of the oil she puts on it. He's watching her loosen it seductively, and his hand reaches out to touch - but there's already somebody there.

He watches Ben caress his mother's hair, then take her by the shoulders and push aside the heavy mass to kiss her neck. He pulls aside the collar of her loose nightrobe to kiss further, her shoulders and her collarbones. He kisses slowly and eagerly, with his eyes opening and closing like his eyelids are heavy.

Leia is a phantom, an imitation. They have shared dreams before, even a galaxy apart - but this isn't her. Whatever Leia dreams of tonight, in her apartment on one of the Core Worlds, it isn't this.

But the phantom Leia's lack of substance forces Luke to confront the truth: that Ben is real. Ben is real and eager and casting such a look at his Master, his uncle, that Luke understands immediately. Leia is a present. For them to share.

If he tried, he might be able to wake himself up. He could untangle their sleeping minds, even though Ben's naturally strong telepathic abilities have knit them together, little tendrils twining affectionately.

But he's dreaming. They're both dreaming. And dreaming of this keeps Ben from dreaming of other things, the night terrors that have haunted his sleep since infancy. In dreaming with Luke - does Ben know what he's doing? Does he slip down the corridor deliberately, or does his sleeping mind simply present him with what he wants? - Ben is kept safe.

Luke will do anything to keep Ben safe.

They make love to the phantom Leia, together. The dream flows between scenarios, but keeps returning to Ben standing behind his mother, squeezing and stroking her breasts. Luke had done that, years ago, and he can still recall the feeling of them in his hands.

Luke is standing behind Leia, cupping her soft breasts in his hands. Her hair is a perfumed wave. Her body is coltish, unmarked by childbirth. Ben is watching them. Luke's erection slides along the cleft of his sister's buttocks.

Luke is making love to Leia slowly, still standing up, in a way that would surely be uncomfortable: here, his dick slips inside her and she sighs, and Luke knows Ben is watching everything in close-up at once, like a voyeur with multiple camera angles. A fantasy, well-worn, long-cherished. How long has Ben fantasised about his mother and uncle having sex? What had he picked up on between the two of them?

Leia lies on the bed with Ben above her, and Luke's eyes are drawn to where the tip of Ben's cock presses against her cunt, and there's no fumbling when he pushes inside. The memory - Ben sharing the sense memory of Luke doing the same - _my sister, my mother_.

He's there too, fucking Ben from behind as Ben fucks his own mother. Ben is between them, trapped between them, endless joining of flesh and minds opening like fruit split and cracked to reveal the sweet pulp. Love everywhere, love overwhelming, love that's _almost_ enough to fill the depthless empty space yawning within Ben that cannot hold love because there is nothing to hold it there, so it can only demand: _more, more, more. More love._


End file.
